by Jasmine Walt
Dareena glanced away, a blush tingling her cheeks. “But I cannot have any man in the Dragonfell,” she said, staring out the window at the passing countryside. “I can only have one of you.”
“And is that so bad?” Drystan asked, sounding a little offended. “We are not mere men, but dragons. There isn’t a woman alive in the realm who wouldn’t give her right arm to trade places with you.”
“I do not mean to sound ungrateful,” Dareena said with a wince, and truly, she didn’t. What the hell had gotten into her? Just a few weeks ago, she had been seriously contemplating marrying a decrepit old innkeeper, and now she had three handsome, virile dragon males for marriage prospects. She should be jumping for joy.
“Then why do you sound like you would rather be somewhere else?” Drystan demanded.
“I don’t,” Dareena said, twisting around. She grabbed one of Drystan’s hands. “It’s just…what you said about feeling trapped by your duties.” She looked into his amber eyes, unflinching. “There are few in the realm who do not feel that way, trapped in the cage that life has made for them, forced to walk the path that they have been set upon. I only wish…I only wish that some of us might have more autonomy. That we might walk to our destiny with open arms, rather than be forced toward it at sword point, or worse, race toward it in fear of what might happen should we choose to defy our masters.”
The clouds on Drystan’s face seemed to melt away, replaced by a wondering expression. “When I was told you were a mere commoner, I did not expect to bandy words with such a thoughtful mind. Are you a learned woman?”
Dareena shook her head. “No,” she said ruefully. “I can read, but there is only one bookshop in Hallowdale, and those illuminated manuscripts are far too expensive for me to afford. The shop owner would not allow me to touch them. The only library in town belongs to the nobles, and commoners are not allowed access to it.”
“We will change that right away,” Drystan promised. “The Keep’s library is at your disposal, and there is a very nice bookshop in town. We’ll visit there, and you can pick out any book you like.”
“Really?” Dareena’s eyes lit up as a burst of excitement filled her. “You would do that for me?”
“You are my future bride,” Drystan said, brushing a kiss across Dareena’s knuckles. “For you, there is very little I would not do.”
TRUE TO HIS WORD, Drystan took Dareena to the bookshop, which was even more delightful than she’d imagined. The place smelled like parchment and ink, and was filled with rows and rows of gleaming dark wood shelves packed with books. The shopkeeper was more than eager to help her, showing Dareena all the different sections, and by the time she left, she had purchased not one but three tomes.
“Thank you,” she said fervently to Drystan as they left. “I can hardly wait until we return so I can read them.”
Drystan laughed. The sound filled Dareena with warmth, the same way a good mug of ale might, and she found herself liking Drystan a little bit more. “If I’d known that books were the key to your heart,” he said, his amber eyes sparkling, “I would have bought you the entire bookshop.”
Dareena chuckled. “Let’s go to the market,” she said, taking his arm. “I promised my friend Tildy I would bring back something for her—I still intend to do that, even if I can’t deliver it myself.”
THEY SPENT the rest of the afternoon strolling around the town market, a large square filled with rows of booths. The clamor of merchants shouting as they advertised their wares mixed with the buzz of conversation. There were so many stalls, so many colorful fabrics and juicy roast meats and sparkling jewelry that Dareena was grateful Drystan was by her side. She could have easily gotten lost while wandering in the bustling crowd between the various vendors and probably not seen half as much as she had with him guiding her.
By the time they left the market, Dareena had collected a colorful shawl for Tildy, a woven blanket for Gilma, and a dagger for herself. The weapon had caught Dareena’s eye because it was a work of art—the blade was finely honed, the jade handle fashioned to look as though it was covered in dragon scales. But it had been Drystan’s idea to buy it for her, along with a thigh sheath—every woman should carry a weapon, he’d claimed, and the eating knife tucked in her pocket simply would not do.
“You didn’t have to buy this for me,” Dareena said shyly as they got back into the carriage. She pulled the dagger out of the small box the merchant had wrapped it in and ran her fingers lovingly across the carved jade handle. “The weapons merchant had much more practical options.”
“Maybe,” Drystan said, “but that was the one your heart was set on, and I saw no reason to settle for something less.” Gently, he took the dagger from her hand. “Shall I help you put it on?”
Dareena swallowed, very much aware of how close they were—he’d leaned in, and his knees were brushing against hers now. “I…” She trailed off, glancing toward the sheath, which was still in the bag. The buckle was meant to be strapped around her thigh, and to do that…
"If you aren’t comfortable,” Drystan said quietly, “I won’t push you. But I thought I might at least show you the first time, so that you can put it on yourself when you get dressed.”
He pulled back, but Dareena gently grabbed his wrist, careful of the knife. “I trust you,” she said, even as her heart beat faster.
Drystan smiled. “I’ll be careful,” he said, setting the dagger aside on the seat. He picked up the dagger belt, then bent forward. Dareena bunched her skirt in her right hand and pulled it back so that Drystan could access her thigh. Her breath trembled as she bared her leg, and Drystan’s eyes widened in surprise.
“No stockings?” he asked, lifting his head to meet her gaze.
Dareena shook her head. “Rona tried to make me wear them, but they chafe.” She gave Drystan a sheepish smile. “I didn’t think anyone would be poking up my skirts, or I’d have reconsidered.”
Drystan chuckled. “Makes a man wonder if you decided to forgo underwear as well,” he said, and his eyes darkened with lust. He placed a hand on Dareena’s outer thigh, his fingers brushing against the edge of her bunched-up skirt, and for a moment, Dareena thought he might venture a little higher to test out his hypothesis. Sparks shot through her at the contact, and that curious warmth she’d felt before spread through her lower belly, along with an ache she’d never felt before. Suddenly, she wanted him to push her skirt higher, she wanted him to delve those fingers deeper, into places she’d never let a man touch her.
Was this supposed to happen so fast? Was she supposed to want to fall into bed with a man after spending a mere afternoon with him?
Drystan sucked in a harsh breath, and his fingers tightened on her thigh in a way that made Dareena think their thoughts were aligned.
“Is something wrong?” she ventured when he did not move.
He lifted his gaze to her, and his amber eyes were glowing. “You are far too tempting,” he said roughly, rising so that they were face to face. “If you were mine,” he said, sliding his hand a little higher and making Dareena shiver, “I would be between your legs already, showing you pleasures that no other man could give you. You’re already wet”—his fingers inched toward the center of her body, which pulsed with a need she’d never experienced before—“and aching. I could make that ache go away. I could make you soar higher and freer than any bird.”
His lips were nearly touching hers, and she wet them nervously. “Then why don’t you?” she asked breathlessly. His fingers were a mere millimeter away from her secret spot—all she had to do was open her legs…
“Because,” Drystan growled, pulling his hand away. “Your thighs are clenched together so hard I don’t think even dragon fire could force them apart. Your entire body is rigid with tension, and even through your lust, I can smell your fear.”
Dareena drew upright, indignant. “I’m not afraid—”
“You are,” Drystan said, gently now. “And you are right to be. I am no stable boy
to roll in the hay with—I am a dragon, and you are not ready. I will take you the moment I have earned it, the moment that your body is ready to accept me, and not before. I want there to be absolutely no doubt in your mind that you want me, more than anything else in the world, by the time I slide my cock into your sweet pussy.”
Dareena let out a shuddering breath at the image that exploded in her mind of Drystan naked and between her legs, his muscled body glowing in the candlelight as he took her with all the ferocity and passion like only a dragon could. The next thing she knew, her lips were mashed against Drystan’s, and the only thing in the world was him—his dark, masculine scent, the swell of his full lips against her own, the way his fingers dug into her thighs as he forced his tongue into her mouth. She moaned at the taste of him, and his answering groan reverberated through her, setting her aflame.
And yet…despite the ache between her legs, there was hesitation. She had not even gone out with the other brothers yet. Could she really allow Drystan to go this far on their first meeting? She had no doubt he would satisfy her, but would she be content, or would she feel regret for choosing him, never knowing…?
“As I said,” Drystan panted, pulling back, “you’re not ready yet.”
Dareena bit her swollen lower lip. “You’re right,” she said breathlessly. “I’m not.”
Drystan nodded tightly, then bent down again to continue what he’d started. Dareena held her breath as he looped the dagger belt around her thigh, but though his fingers lingered a bit longer than necessary as he tightened and adjusted the strap, he did not go further.
The dragon prince was a man of his word, it would seem.
“The blade goes in here,” he said, sliding the dagger into its sheath. The cool jade handle slid across her skin, a startling contrast against Dareena’s still-overheated flesh. “I admit this is not the best solution,” he said, frowning a little. “I’ll ask your maid to fashion a discreet opening in your skirts so that you can access the dagger without having to bunch them up.”
“Thank you,” Dareena said, surprised. The thought had occurred to her that it would be difficult to access the dagger, but she had been so grateful for it that she had not thought to bring it up to Drystan. “You seem very interested in making sure I am armed.”
Drystan’s handsome face tightened. “You may have traded your simple town for thick castle walls, but the world is a harsh place no matter where you stand in it. I would not have you unarmed should you find yourself in a perilous situation when I am not near.”
The tone in his voice had Dareena frowning. “You sound as if you think that is likely,” she said. “Is there something I should be aware of?”
Drystan shook his head. “There are no monsters prowling the Keep,” he said, turning to stare out the window. “At least none other than the ones who reside here already. But even so, don’t leave your room without that dagger. Not all is as it should be.”
17
Alistair prepared for his date, surprised by his eagerness. He hadn’t believed himself to be a man of wild ambition like his brothers, but as it turned out, he was. This was a chance he’d never foreseen—a chance to win everything: the throne, the Dragon’s Gift, his brothers’ respect, and a chance to heal the kingdom, too. He knew Lucyan might not be mad, but his rule wouldn’t be all too different from their father’s, who was always scheming and looking over his shoulder, seeing enemies where there may be none. Drystan was a better option, but if Alistair became king? He’d see that no one died hungry on the street, and he wouldn’t let politics get in the way of truth or justice.
They could say everything they wished about him being the lesser amongst his brothers; sometimes, it was a fair assessment. He wasn’t as clever as one, as wise as the other. But in a fight, he could best either of them any day. He may not have officially met Dareena yet, but she was a young woman, and young women loved him as much as they loved Drystan or Lucyan.
He’d considered wearing something more formal for their first date, but he wasn’t going to win this by playing the elegant card; Drystan was the one who excelled at that. No doubt his brother would greet her in an embroidered uniform. Instead, Alistair stuck to who he was. His soft, dark blue tunic fit him well, showing off the broad build women praised. He untied his hair, loose waves falling across his shoulders.
A stroll through the gallery, followed by a moonlit walk and a supper on the docks, he decided. It would be nothing like whatever his brothers would have chosen to do with her. And besides, that way, it would afford him the opportunity for her to get to know him, and vice versa.
He took comfort in the knowledge that being himself might work in his favor for once. Politicians might value the dutiful son, admire the cunning one, but the kind one was often vastly underestimated.
He was on his way down to the entry halls when a commotion caught his attention; the sounds were faint, but his acute hearing picked it up.
“What’s going on?” he asked, stopping Tarius when they crossed paths. Whatever it was, the steward would know.
The man froze like a deer caught in the headlights—nothing he was supposed to talk about, then. Alistair sighed. It might have been nothing of importance, and in other circumstances, he might have ignored it. But the man’s reaction suggested he ought to pay attention to whatever was happening.
Good thing he’d been early for his date.
Following the direction of the sound, he left the residential part of the palace, passing the guard post, the servants’ quarters, and finally ending at what had been their stables just yesterday.
Alistair’s eyes widened. He genuinely couldn’t believe what he saw.
The horses had been taken elsewhere, and in their stead were a dozen makeshift bunks in each pen and a handful of visibly alarmed healers who were doing their best to be everywhere all at once.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he snarled.
The healers seemed alarmed at first, and no wonder—in the rare occurrence when he did use that particular tone, he knew he sounded a little too much like his father. But they relaxed when they saw it was him.
“This,” the oldest amongst the five professionals replied, “is the best I can do today, my prince.”
“These men need to be taken to the infirmary wing at once.”
“Four dozen men came back today, all wounded. There isn’t any room to accommodate everyone, and those who were considered too far gone were to be left to die. Order of the king. I called everyone on leave today, and we’re doing what we can.”
Order of the king. In a perfect world, he could have been allowed to doubt that, to say that his father couldn’t possibly have been that cruel toward his Dragon Force—many of whom were his flesh and blood. There may not be rooms in the infirmary, but they had dozens of empty guest apartments at any given time—converting one would have been an easy feat.
But Alistair didn’t doubt it. Such was the will of their king and father.
The war had taken the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of their soldiers, and it showed no sign of ending anytime soon. And all for what? A little while ago, the answer would have been obvious, but now…
Were the elves truly responsible for killing their mother? He and Taldren had found nothing to convince him otherwise, but even if she had died by the hand of an elf, had he been sent by their king? If it had simply been the work of a rogue, surely there was a way to negotiate an end to this madness. Their king seemed willing to come to an agreement.
“What do you need?” Alistair managed, sick with rage. They seemed to be working with nothing more than cloth as makeshift bandages.
The healer wiped a cloth across her sweaty brow. “Healing salves, alcohol, more bandages, water, a dozen pairs of hands…” She shook her head, exhausted. “We are stretched to our limit.”
Alistair turned, already on his way. He strode to the infirmary, took what he could carry, and ordered servants to help with the rest. Going against his father wasn�
�t wise, so he knew better than to reassign the medical personnel, but servants were another matter.
It wasn’t until the clock tower struck another hour that he recalled he had somewhere else to be.
Alistair cursed under his breath, imagining wide, disappointed green eyes. But at the same time, he was grateful for the time he spent staunching the bleeding, cauterizing the wounds, and doing his very best to stop his people from dying on his watch. If not for that timely interruption, he might have lost sight of what this was really about. Not besting his brothers, not winning the favor of a pretty thing he’d never so much as spoken to directly. Who knew, anyway? There was a chance he wouldn’t be able to stand her. Beauty was hardly an inclusive recommendation.
No, this battle for succession was about determining who’d run their kingdom and ensuring that the next king wouldn’t be the kind of man who could order horrors like these.
“Let me see that wound,” Alistair said softly, talking to a man who wasn’t much more than a boy. While Alistair was no help with serious wounds, he could disinfect and dress the smaller ones the healers didn’t have the luxury to attend to yet. And he could use his dragon fire to cauterize as needed.
“I see it’s true what they say about Prince Alistair,” the man said.
“What do they say?” he asked, to distract him as he cleaned the wounds rather than out of curiosity. He had a feeling he already knew the answer.
“That you’re peculiar for a royal.”
That was one way of putting it.
“Some say the country would be better in your hands,” the man continued, dropping his voice. “That you might be able to stop the war.”
He frowned, not sure how to respond to that. Could he? He would certainly try if he was in that position, but for a man he’d never met to have such faith in him…